


where wolves are born

by crazyache



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers, Spoilers for Battle of the Bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyache/pseuds/crazyache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon looks at his sister, his little, fiery-red haired sister who has endured this entire battle with skin of stone. Together they determine the fate of their prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where wolves are born

**Author's Note:**

> Major Spoilers for episode 6x9, "Battle of the Bastards." I imagine this is how the decision happened off-screen. Loving the Stark siblings.

“Where is he?” 

Jon looks at his sister, his little, fiery-red haired sister who has endured this entire battle with skin of stone. At the sound of her voice, and the thin line across her mouth, as they stand in Winterfell, as they stand home, he cannot help but see Catelyn Stark. He blinks to shatter the image of her mother, back to this stranger who is the most familiar anchor currently holding him together lately. 

“He’s being kept in a cell,” he says slowly, studying the growing impatience in her face, “What would you like done? We could hang him once he wakes--”

“No, he doesn’t deserve such death.” 

She’s staring at the ground, thoughts clearly racing through her mind. Jon wonders if they are memories, perhaps nightmares, of this monster. He wonders if this impatience is because she is afraid of any second longer with Ramsey Bolton’s nearby existence, or if it is a desperation for a rightful and dark vengeance, the kind that boils in the blood. He thinks both, and that scares him. 

“Tell me then, Sansa,” Jon steps forward, a hand reaching to touch her elbow but never quite reaches, “Tell me what he deserves.” 

Her eyes flash. She is a Stark. By the Old Gods and New. Jon has killed men, fought battles, been betrayed by his own men, and brought back to life only to feel more dead--but while he was at the Wall and beyond, the Sansa he knew had been destroyed again and again, and she has been clawing her way to be born again. 

She hesitates. “His dogs. He deserves to suffer by his own cruelty.” 

“Ay, he told us himself they haven’t been fed in seven days.” 

She smiles, barely. Ghost-like. A small swallow to give strength to her decision. His own hands twitch at his sides, knuckles still bruised from the senseless rage that beat down on that man’s face--each strike for the monstrosities he inflicted on his sister, for the endless killing of his army, for when he saw the arrow tear through Rickon’s chest, who was still a three-year-old child in Jon’s eyes, and for his home. He looked at Sansa once more; he sees the same rage like a mirror, even more so, only in ice. 

“Then let us feed them,” she replies. 

He sees a woman not done clawing.


End file.
